Cosmic Tales - Adventures in Sol System

by T. K. F. Weisskopf

  "Yes." Legs flipped a flimsy and a star-shaped badge in Jack's direction. "In fact, I'd like this to be official business. Deputize and pay you."

  He picked up the flimsy and the badge. "You just want to boss me again, like you tried to during the war." He looked at her. "I'm not ramming any ships for anybody."

  "That's fine." She decided to ignore his reference to one of their battles. "Just bring Longshanks in."

  "Yes, boss!"

  Legs spent the day walking around the station, making sure everyone saw her, behaved themselves, and stayed out of trouble. A few miners accosted her, to warn her against hiring the Sidewinder. Legs just nodded, and ignored them.

  Sadie stayed at the office, doing what she did best, and the sight of cleanly scrubbed cells, neatened office, and working equipment made up for all the nasty Prattler headlines. Legs decided to nap in the afternoon, to make up for any sleep she might miss later.

  Good thing too, because Legs never saw her hammock that night. Between brawls and petty thievery, she kept busy the entire night.

  Sadie took over the office and the disturbances in the morning, allowing Legs to get a short nap. At lunchtime Legs woke, and checked on docking records and Jack Dixon's reports. Jack had been to two of Longshanks' claims, but hadn't found anyone. Nearly seven-eighths of Purgatory local space's p-opulation was now on the station, but Elmer and his crew were not among them. Legs sighed, and got herself another cup of coffee.

  "Sheriff?" Sadie asked.

  "Call me Legs, or I'll call you Deputy."

  The Sidewinder blushed. "I wanted to ask you something, but I'm not sure it's something I should have gotten into."

  "Ask."

  Pulling a stack of flimsies from the desk drawer, Sadie hesitantly set them in front of Legs. "I found these when I was cleaning. They looked like you'd been doing accounting by hand."

  Legs smiled. "I had, or was trying to. My accounting software glitched, and I was trying to make everything balance. I never could."

  "That's because these numbers don't match what the computer has." Sadie pointed to several entries and blushed again. "I checked."

  "That's all right. I finally had Kimble Phelps come down here. He said it was a virus. He cleaned it off, and got me a fresh download from the bank. All taken care of."

  "Oh." Sadie looked thoughtful and nodded. "I see."

  "You want to hold down the office, while I go knock heads together?" Legs asked, getting up from her seat at the desk.

  Sadie nodded.

  "It's all right. Don't worry about it. You're doing great."

  Putting the flimsies back in the drawer, Sadie just nodded.

  Out on her office porch, Legs noticed the crowd gathering up by the bank, and decided she'd better get over there. But it wasn't the bank everyone was crowding around, it was the Struck It Rich, next door. Damon Karybdis stood near the doorway, directing the placement of a new plastic sign underneath the old wooden one.

  He looked over at Legs, and smiled as she approached, but didn't take his hands from the construction controls. "Good morning, Sheriff Lanier. Beautiful to see you."

  "What's going on?"

  Looking back to the new sign going up, Karybdis smirked. "I bought me a restaurant. I'm making a few changes."

  The sign consisted of a statue of a woman from the waist up, looking for all the world like an old-fashioned sailing ship's masthead. Her hand was extended, and she was holding an enormous set of dice.

  "Gambling?" Legs asked.

  "Of course," Karybdis said.

  "Prostitution?"

  "Naturally."

  A sinking feeling took over in Legs' stomach. "And the steaks and potatoes?"

  "Oh, uh. I'm sure we'll still have steaks and such." Karybdis shrugged and the sign shuddered. He turned his attention back to what he was doing. "I've closed up shop, while I redecorate. Not much is finalized yet."

  With all his attention on the sign, Legs knew he didn't see her shocked look, but she couldn't find anything to say.

  Close a busy restaurant during Hell Week? No sane businessman would do something like that. The Struck It Rich made good money. Lots of good money. But like most of Purgatory Station's businesses most of that money was made during the two Hell Weeks a year that the outsystem ship was in dock. The money they'd lose would make it more sensible to keep the Struck It Rich up and going as a restaurant until after Hell Week, then close it down during the quiet time and redecorate then.

  Legs shook her head. Just because it was stupid didn't make it illegal. Though it was very strange. Odd. Unnatural. Every instinct Legs had said something was screwy, something wrong was going on.

  Jack's reports were all negative, and Sadie seemed very quiet, which only made Legs more apprehensive.

  After sleeping in fits and starts all night, between breaking up fights and generally keeping the peace, Legs irritatedly checked the docking reports. No Longshanks. Jack had checked all of Elmer's claims, without finding Elmer, and had moved on to checking unclaimed territories, to see if Longshanks might be establishing another claim.

  Sadie tiptoed in, and cautiously set about straightening things that were already straight. Something about the way she was acting got on Legs' nerves.

  "What's with you?" Legs asked.

  "Nothing." But Sadie didn't look at Legs.

  "Sadie," Legs said it harsher than she'd intended. "What's wrong?"

  "It's just, well, the accounting stuff."

  "What about it?"

  Fiddling nervously with the broom handle, Sadie shrugged. "The numbers just don't add up. Even if you take the virus into account the numbers don't match."

  "Show me." Legs stood up and motioned Sadie into her chair at the desk.

  With the flimsies on one side and the computer display on the other, Sadie took Legs step by step, charge by charge, deposit by deposit, back through the sheriff's accounts. "See these charges, listed by the bank. They aren't on your written list."

  "Maybe I forgot them?" Legs asked.

  "I suppose it's possible," Sadie said. "But before this you'd always kept track of every charge. Can you remember spending these amounts?"

  "No."

  "Then this, if you add these deposits and subtract these charges from the amount here—" Sadie did just that, but in a different program from the accounting "—you don't get this total."

  There was no arguing that.

  "And here. According to this report this is when you last balanced with the bank, so the virus should have been afterward, but, see, your record of that amount and the bank's record don't agree. Isn't that strange?"

  Very.

  "And, I found an old record, from that balance date. At that time the bank agreed with your total, not its current total."

  Legs carefully went back over everything Sadie had shown her. The bank's program hadn't fixed anything; it had made things worse. Legs could almost hear alarms going off in her head. "Good work, Sadie. Now, I need a favor. We're going to document all this, copy everything, hard and soft. Put it in evidence bags." Legs pulled a box of evidence bags from the supply closet, and handed it to Sadie with the little instruction booklet on collecting evidence. Her eyes locked with Sadie's. "But don't tell anyone. Not yet. I need to think."

  She supervised Sadie's evidence gathering, making sure the girl understood what she was doing and why. Legs patiently and calmly assisted Sadie through the whole process, trying not to jump like a guilty schoolgirl caught skipping school everytime someone came to the office. When they'd finished documenting the entire problem, Legs said, "Go home to your folks. Don't tell your family, but find an excuse to check their accounts. I want to know if it's just mine, or if it's spread out."

  Stepping out onto the porch, Legs surveyed all she could of Purgatory Station. Sadie nodded good-bye as she disappeared into the crowd.

  Legs received the normal complaints and whines as people flowed past. She glanced down toward the bank, then forced herself to stare straig
ht across the street, at the Prattler's office.

  Someone had been messing with Purgatory Station's money, and Legs suspected it wasn't limited to the sheriff's account.

  Nearly ninety percent of the population from Purgatory local space was on the station. And, by certain accounting methods, over two hundred percent of the liquid assets rested in the bank. All of the ordinary cash, plus all the extras brought in for exchange during the biannual supply ship's visit. For this short week those goods and supplies had been transformed into liquid cash on the computer system. Which would disappear with the Ocher Dust, in the form of supply orders and goods transfers in the cargo holds. The combined assets of Purgatory Station would make an excellent target—if someone could find a way to physically access them. Once out of the Purgatory local space, possession of actual physical assets would cancel any phantom computer assets. The citizens of Purgatory would be left with money only in the virtual sense, while someone would be holding the actuality.

  The culprit had to be confident and cool, able to get to the actual assets, able to hold and hide those assets until well away from the wrath of the victims, and well versed in diddling computers.

  The Struck It Rich. Conveniently closed for remodeling. Smack-dab up against the bank, and if Legs' memory served her, right up against the vault. Physical access. Karybdis had to be involved.

  Kimble Phelps? A possibility. But it was his bank. Legs didn't see much use in him fleecing his own bank. Unless he planned to leave with the goods. He'd know how to diddle the computers, where the assets were, what best to take, how to hide them until they were away from Purgatory. And probably where to sell them off outsystem.

  So, did the fact that the accounting program was glitched indicate that Kimble was trying to hide what was going on, or that someone was trying to hack into the bank?

  "Well, Sheriff, you're thinking awful hard."

  Legs looked down to see Langdon Kade standing at the foot of her porch steps. Strangely, he wasn't holding a recorder pad toward her. She sighed mentally. "Yup."

  "Wouldn't happen to be thinking about a missing businessman? Perhaps the overgrown owner of one of Purgatory's finest mining operations?"

  "That ain't your business. What I think is sheriff's business."

  Langdon grinned. "The public has a right to know official sheriff's business."

  "Well damnation, Langdon, if the public wants to know so bad, you can tell them that their sheriff is keeping track of who is and isn't on the station. And who has and hasn't checked in like they're supposed to. And she's been poking her ornery, ugly nose into all sorts of things that people don't want her to." Legs' fingertips caressed the garters peeking out from under her miniskirt. "You know, I've had a complaint about the press. Perhaps I ought to come over there and stick my nose in your business. Let the people know exactly what's going on over at the press office. What do you think?"

  "No need to get snitty." Langdon glanced fearfully at her legs, and walked off. Langdon might be a thorn in her side, but he knew and respected what her fiddling with her garters meant.

  "Hey, Sheriff! Why'd you go and hire the Sidewinder? Didn't anybody warn you about her?"

  Legs smiled, shook her head, and retreated back into her office. If she asked Jack, he'd delay the Ocher Dust's departure. He'd get his engineer to "arrange" an engine problem or something. There wasn't much he as captain of the ship couldn't arrange. If he hadn't been her friend he'd be the perfect suspect for ringleader on this scam.

  Her thoughts ground to a full stop. Not Jack. Not Jack.

  He'd been the one who'd told her Karybdis wasn't a concern, or possibly at best a distraction. He'd told her to keep an eye on the locals. She rested her head on the cool surface of her desk.

  And now he was out who knew where in Purgatory Station. Delivering assets to an accomplice?

  Elmer Longshanks. Conveniently missing right when she couldn't go looking for him. When she'd turn to her trusted friend the captain of the outsystem ship to go track him down.

  Memories of the war rose up in her mind, the confusion and terror and cold. She and Elmer facing each other, weapons drawn and aimed. Not their first meeting, this was after they'd gotten to know each other through a complicated series of battlefield encounters, surrenders, guardings, and prisoner swaps. She and Elmer facing each other, at the business ends of the other's weapons.

  She'd lifted her weapon; fired over his head. He'd lowered his, and shot out her first set of prosthetics. Taken her captive. Prevented his superiors from torturing her for the secrets she'd known. No torturing. Not around the honorable Sergeant Elmer Longshanks.

  Honorable. He might have been the enemy, but he was honorable. Legs drew a deep breath and wiped away the hot wet tracks across her cheeks. Longshanks always did his duty. Always did what was right. That was one thing she could count on with him. He wouldn't touch something like this with a ten-light-year pole.

  Jack Dixon had a more entrepreneurial approach to life, but she'd never known him to steal.

  People could change. Did change. It was possible that Elmer and Jack were involved, but she'd consider them innocent until she found proof. Still, Legs felt guilty for suspecting them.

  She had to get into the Struck It Rich, before Jack got back. While she was figuring how to get in, it wouldn't hurt to go case the bank. But first she wanted to check with the Ocher Dust's customer attendant and see who had booked passage out.

  On her way to the docks she passed the center column at the intersection of Tin Ally and Main Street. She picked out the Purgatory Prattler's headlines through the surrounding ads.

  "Raiders' Whereabouts Remain Unknown," "Record Population Aboard Purgatory Station," "Celebration Planned for Tomorrow," and "Sheriff Lanier Ineffective Against Rising Tide of Violence."

  Legs found Martine Pease, the Ocher Dust's customer attendant, at her shiny desk in her sumptuous office on the Ocher Dust.

  "Letitia, welcome. What can I do for you?"

  "Mind if I peek at the outgoing passenger list?"

  Martine called it up on her computer, allowing Legs to look over her shoulder.

  Damon Karybdis had already booked passage out. As had Corin Minerva and a few other students. The name Phillip Kim wasn't familiar to Legs though.

  "Find what you need?" Martine asked.

  "Yup." Legs smiled tightly. "Just checking to see that Corin was set. He tends to be forgetful of certain things."

  "Oh, yes. You're losing your deputy." Martine cleared her throat. "I heard you'd found another, known as the Sidewinder."

  Winking, Legs said, "I think I'm coming out the better on this deal."

  Martine looked confused, but smiled.

  "Who all's taking cargo?" Legs asked.

  "Well, let's see." Martine changed the display. "The students have only their effects. Karybdis has reserved a small space. He says he's going to recoup some decorating costs by selling off the old fixtures from the Struck It Rich."

  "Did he bring any cargo with him?"

  "No. Just his effects. Samples, he said they were. Sure surprised me when he decided to take up a different line of work."

  Legs made a noncommittal noise.

  Martine scrolled down. "Most of the mine operators have already booked their cargo space. We're almost up to our normal passage weight. Not near capacity, though. Haven't heard from Longshanks Limited yet." She turned to smile up at Legs. "I'm sure Jack'll find him."

  Legs made some polite good-bye. She snarled to herself as she walked up Coal Street on her way to the bank. Kimble Phelps was involved, definitely. She couldn't think who else would be masquerading as Phillip Kim.

  She stopped to look at the Prattler's headlines on the column.

  "Celebration Planned for Tomorrow," the tenor announced.

  Pressing the back of her watch against the announcement's reader eye, Legs obtained a printed copy of the entire article. She read as she continued down Main Street. The Prattler, the bank, and the Minervas
were sponsoring a general celebration from dawn to noon tomorrow. An early pyrotechnic display, breakfast, and games were planned. To ensure attendance, the bank and several other offices would be closed.

  How convenient.

  Spotting Langdon, Legs pulled him from the center of a crowd of people. She waved the article flimsy in front of his face. "Whose idea was this?"

  Langdon pulled his arm from her grasp. "Oh, that's just something we've been kicking around for a few years now. Why? Don't think you can handle it?"

  "I'll handle it." Legs stalked off toward the bank.

  Kimble Phelps came out from behind the counter almost as soon as she'd walked in the door. "What can I do for you?"

  "Not a thing." Legs smiled at him. "I'm just circulating around, trying to prevent trouble before it starts."

  He smiled back at her. "Good thinking." He saw the flimsy in her hand. "Planning on going to the celebration?"

  "Wouldn't miss it for the biggest claim in the universe." She looked once more around the bank's lobby. "Well, no trouble here." Legs waved good-bye and headed out the door.

  Glancing back at the bank's storefront clock, she said, "Damnation!"

  Dawn and the pyrotechnics were still a good two hours away. There'd been no more dockings at Purgatory Station, and neither Jack nor Longshanks had checked in.

  Legs held the rumpled, bright silver-colored space-emergency suit out to Sadie. "Ever used one of these?"

  "Only for drills. Won't the protective vests shield us?"

  "Against the ministunners and such, yes. But our enemies will have basically similar defenses and weaponry. I intend for us to be better equipped than them. They may outnumber us, but they won't outgun us."

  Looking cautiously scared, Sadie didn't say a word.

  Tossing the suit onto her littered desk, Legs closed the door of the musty cabinet. So Sadie hadn't gotten to every nook and cranny of the sheriff's office yet. "So, how'd your exploration of your family's accounts go?"

  "About like my excursion through the sheriff's accounts."

  "Today won't be a drill." Legs motioned Sadie to take the chair at her desk. "Pull up the station's specs. Get to know the mechanical and air ducts. Locate all the emergency containment blast doors for Main Street. For the most part each shop, saloon, or office will be contained to itself, but there are a few exceptions. There's going to be a problem today, and I want you in the suit, moving from compartment to compartment, working crowd control on Main Street."